


King of Wishful Thinking

by BossToaster (ChaoticReactions)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Old Dogs Senior Sanctuary, Alternate Universe - Veterinarians, Alternate Universe - Wings, Badass Colleen Holt, Black is a dog now and Shiro loves her lots, Gen, Headcanon, Tumblr Prompt, no really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2019-01-30 19:38:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12660069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaoticReactions/pseuds/BossToaster
Summary: From Tumblr: Send me an AU and I'll give you 5 Headcanons1) The Galra attack Earth after the Pals leave in the Blue Lion2) Pidge conspires to get Shiro a dog, and he ends up opening up a version of the Old Dogs Senior Sanctuary.  Oops.3) Scooby Doo AU (yes really)4) Shiro's relationship with his wings (Wing AU)





	1. Galra Attack Earth, or, how Colleen Holt learned to stop worrying and be a badass

**I) Colleen Holt has already lost too much.**

She lost her husband and son in one fell swoop, in one awful phone call, in one news report.  Mission Failure.  Pilot Error.  ‘I’m sorry, Ma’am.’

Two words, and two-thirds of her family was gone.  Just gone.  Nothing to do, no bodies to identify, no one to bury.

No closure.

She lost her daughter shortly after, to furious rants and steadfast denial.  Colleen tried everything to reach Katie, to help her in this new, terrible world.  But then she vanished.

And Colleen was alone.

Colleen guards what she has left.  The home her family had lived in, the dog they’d raised since he was a puppy, the routines and rituals she could manage on her own.

So much was gone.

Colleen didn’t think she had anything left to lose.

Until the aliens came.

**II) The world panics.**

No one seems to know what’s happening anymore.

Colleen calls friends at the Garrison, calls friends who work in the government, listens to the television, listens to the radio.  None of it agrees, none of it makes any sense.

Cities start going dark.  Gone.

The invaders are swift and powerful, wielding weapons that humanity can’t hope to match.  Grainy cell-phone footage comes in, images of marching soldiers in armor that looks like eyes, followed by legions upon legions of robots.

There’s an attempt at fighting back.  Broadcasters stream live footage as military planes fire upon the huge warships and don’t even get past the projected shields.  News reports come in of bombing on invaded areas, but it’s never enough.  For the dozens and dozens of robots destroyed, of soldiers finally shot down, there’s another ship full to fight next.

Slowly, pictures start to come out of the aliens.  None of them seem to have much in common, other than purples and blues and their horrible, yellow eyes.  Fur, scales, horns, fangs, tusks, claws-

All of it the same, with armor on and blasters in their hands.

Governments start to stop responding.  Some have buckled down into isolationism, hoping to weather the storm.

Others are simply gone.

Colleen sits upon a wealth of information.  She calls in a favor, gets a gun.  Holes out in her room with Baebae and waits for the aliens to come to her.

It takes a few hours of that for her to think  _ no. _

So instead she loads Baebae into the car with as many supplies as she can get from the house, and then as much as the few grocery stores still open can sell.

Then she starts to drive.

**III) The Garrison is no better than anywhere else.**

Colleen wasn’t sure what she was hoping for.  

There’s yelling and panic.  The students have been evacuated - it even started before the invasion, after a crash and several students snuck out and were never found.  Colleen tries to feel sorry for those poor lost kids, whatever happened to them, but she can’t find it in herself, not really.  If they died out there, they missed the worse deaths later.  Shouldn’t have snuck out in the first place anyway.

Colleen knocks on doors, offers her services.  No, she’s not a soldier, no, she doesn’t have Sam’s particular training, for what good it would have done them.

Instead, she shows them the information she’s collected, from all her calls and favors.

Colleen has the clearest picture of the invasion, maybe of anyone on earth.

Iverson eyes her, takes in her haggard appearance and her fierce grip on Baebae’s collar.  The stubborn set of her jaw and the fire in her eyes.

“Alright,” he says, nodding to one of the younger officers (a lieutenant, like Matt would have been- no don’t think about it).  “Take her to the communications room.”

Colleen goes with her head held high, and ignores the ache in her heart at the sight of the uniforms.

**IV) No one knows what the aliens want.**

Colleen fixates on that.  No one’s been able to get the aliens to talk.  The very few captured alive will only say the same thing, over and over.   _ ‘Veprit Sa.’ _  No translation known.  They have linguists on it, but they have nothing to work on.  It’s a fool’s errand.

But Colleen needs to know why.  Does Earth have some material they want?  Do they just want to lay claim to the land?  Did something happen?

There’s a thought, in the back of her mind, that Colleen doesn’t want to shine a light on.  A fear that maybe the reason the aliens had never come before was that they hadn’t known Earth was there.  Until they breached the surface, until humanity went just that touch too far.  Maybe they’d disturbed a nest they hadn’t been aware was there.

Pilot error.  No one can tell her what that means, because it means they don’t know.  Pilot error meant ‘human error, maybe?’  It meant ‘we don’t see anything wrong, there was no crash’.  It meant ‘something happened but it wasn’t us, so it had to be someone else’.

Had her husband and son and their pilot been the first victims of these monsters?

Colleen thinks of Sam’s endless enthusiasm, his pursuit for his life’s work, the proof that somewhere, out there, was someone else.  That humanity was not alone.  

She buries her face in Baebae’s fur and hides her burning eyes.

Then she gets back to work.

Slowly, day by day, more cities and sources go quiet.  But they finally get another word.

**V) ‘Voltron’.**

What’s a Voltron?

Colleen has no idea.  She still has no idea when the sky darkens, and when a fleet of ships lands in front of the Garrison.  One of the few remaining points of communication, it would have been a target sooner or later.

Their time was up.

“Stay,” Colleen ordered Baebae.  Closing a door on him would be a death sentence if no one was around to let him out, so she has to rely on commands.  “Stay!”

The dog sits obediently, gray on his muzzle and tail thumping quietly.

She has so little left to lose.

Colleen will do her best to protect this piece.

With that, Colleen draws her gun and turns around.

The base is overrun quickly.  There’s no defense against them as they barrel through, shooting or striking down anyone in their way.

But Colleen has lost too much.  She won’t turn tail and let this be taken.

One steps forward, their huge, fluffy ears a mocking counterpoint to their fanged smile and glowing eye.  He speaks, a string of words that mean nothing to Colleen.  He sounds upset, almost nervous.  Frantic.  Impatient.

When they speak again, this time she does know one word.

‘Voltron’.

Several times, over and over, angrier each time.  The alien roams through the room, of the scientists and soldiers and one civilian left.  They meet Colleen’s eyes, and their single one narrows, seeing something.

Seeing her lack of fear.

Colleen has lost so much.  This alien can’t touch her, not really.  Not like she’s already been hurt.

They get closer, growling.  They don’t check her hands, to see if she’s tied up like the rest.  ‘Voltron’ again, demanding.  There’s yelling behind them, one of the other soldiers hissing and pointing to a floating screen, urgent.

There’s a huge crash outside.  The one-eyed cat-jackass looks in that direction.  They’re tense, worried, out of time.

When they look back, Colleen’s gun is in their face.

“Go ‘Veprit Sa’ yourself.”

She fires and gets them right in the remaining eye.

The other soldiers shout, and the skinny one with the screen draws their weapon.

Outside, there is a mighty roar.

**Bonus) There’s nothing left to lose, and everything to gain.**

“Matthew?” Colleen asks, breathless, as the green-armored one takes off their helmet.

But the face is too young, the body too short.  Instead, they gape at her in a very familiar way.  “Mom?”

“Katie?!”

Suddenly, she has an armful of excited daughter, three cadets of various levels of nervousness, a missing pilot who apparently didn’t error, and two aliens (not those aliens) to deal with.

When Voltron flies away, Colleen Holt is with them.

She lost her family once.  Really, the least she could get in return is a space castle.


	2. Old Dogs Senior Sanctuary AU

**0) Veterinarian AU?  More like Veteran-arian AU.  As in, Old Dogs Senior Sanctuary AU**

**I) Shiro needs a dog**

That much is true.  Pidge knows that from the bottom of her heart.  She’s seen how he is with Baebae, who still goes nuts whenever he comes over for dinner, even when pushing 14.  More importantly, she sees how Shiro gets when Baebae runs and greets him.  

When Shiro starts looking tired and too distant, Pidge calls Mom and has her text him with an invitation that evening.  He has more trouble saying no when it’s Colleen asking, and Pidge isn’t above using it.  It means he gets a good meal in him, and he’ll join Mom on the couch for a glass of wine and bad TV shows while Pidge plays games on her DS.  Baebae curls up between them both, content to have someone petting him at all times.

Then Mom will start, just before it goes to dark, and announce that she’s forgotten to take Baebae on his walk today, what a shame.  Shiro always, always perks and immediately offers to do it for her, too quick to be purely polite.  Mom puts on a show of telling him he doesn’t have to, but gives him the harness and smiles as he sets off with Baebae at a jog.

When he comes back, usually about half an hour later, his eyes are brighter and his smile is wider.  When Baebae leans against his side, panting, Shiro beams.

A dog is exactly what Shiro needs.  

Coincidence of coincidence, Pidge just happens to work at an animal shelter.

But just saying ‘you need a pet, specifically a dog, because it helps with your PTSD’ isn’t Pidge’s style, and it’s more likely to get Shiro to back off and stop accepting Mom’s invitations.  She needs to be sneakier.

So Pidge does the unimaginable. 

She uses her cell phone as a phone.

“Pidge?” Shiro asks, when he picks up.  His surprise is understandable.  Pidge has never called him.  Texts him, sure.  All the time.  But not calls.  “Is something wrong?”

“Not wrong-wrong,” she answers, sitting down on a bench in the waiting room and kicking her legs.  “I had car trouble this morning, so it’s in the shop.  Mom drove me in to volunteering, but she can’t pick me up.  Are you busy?”

“Of course not,” Shiro replies immediately.  “Let me grab my keys.  Text me the address?”

Pidge beams, both because she appreciates the ‘favor’ and because her clever plot is working.  “’Course.  Thanks so much, Shiro.”

“No problem at all.  I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

When Shiro pulls up, Pidge is waiting for him outside.   He steps over, wearing a jacket and gloves despite the fact that it’s nearly 60 degrees.

Pidge grins.

“Thanks again.  And, hey, while we’re here, want to meet the dogs?”

Shiro opens his mouth.

Hesitates.

“I could say hi.”

**II) But Shiro isn’t as predictable as Pidge plans**

Rather than let himself be drowned in puppies or run around out back, Shiro stops dead in front of one dog in particular.

She’s a much older dog, some odd mix of breeds that no one has ever been able to pin down.  Most people guess there’s husky in her, maybe some chocolate lab.  From her size, Pidge thinks there might be newfoundland in her.

The dog is huge, all black, fluffy as hell, and about twelve years old.  She’s set in her ways like a grandma, and still surprisingly active for her age.

“Hello,” Shiro murmurs, in that soft voice he uses just for dogs.  He holds out his arms, and the dog totters over, then collapses expectantly into his lab.  She gazes up at him, tail giving one single thump, as if asking where her attention is, thank you very much.

Shiro immediately scratches under her huge floppy ears, his eyes practically sparkling.

He’s in love.  Pidge could already tell.

“What’s her name?” He asked, breathless under the weight of the dog.

Behind him, Hunk laughs and pulls off his lab coat.  “We just call her Black.  Not our most original name.”

Shiro shakes his head, looking as if the name ‘Black’ for a big black dog is a revelation.  “Her name is perfect,” he declares, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.  He’s rewarded with another one of those tail thumps.

When Pidge had started this whole plot, she’d been thinking a puppy for Shiro.  Or, if he didn’t want to deal with that, maybe a dog that was only a couple of years old.  One with years left to go, because if she’s going to get Shiro tangled up in a dog, she doesn’t want it to end so soon.  Shiro has enough bad days without losing a pet.

Her own fault for not leading him better.

Even so, Pidge isn’t going to say that aloud now.  Not when Shiro looks the happiest she’s seen him in months.  

“Want me to get her file?”  The question is half to Shiro, and half to Hunk.  He’s the vet on duty, so he’d be better at walking Shiro through the ins and outs of owning an older dog.

Hunk’s brows rose.  “Yeah, that’s a good idea.  If nothing else, I’ll be able to answer more questions you have about her, Shiro.”

Nodding, Shiro continues to card his fingers through the thick fur.  Pidge is pretty sure he didn’t hear the question at all.

This might end badly but-

Well, Pidge can’t be sorry when it makes Shiro look like that.

In fact, she pauses to snag a picture and text it to her brother with a devil smiley face emoji. 

Then she goes to get the file.

**III) Shiro goes further than Pidge was expecting**

“Fostering?” Keith asks, brows up.  “You just got one dog.  You want more?”

Shiro grins from the couch from under his mountain of a dog.  “Sure.  It’s not like I don’t take in strays anyway.”  He nods to Keith and Pidge both, looking very pleased at himself for the joke.

Rolling his eyes, Keith picks up one of Black’s new chew toys and squeaks it.  She bounds over at force, with far more energy than a dog that age should have.  The force of her jumping off his lap makes Shiro groan, which was probably Keith’s plan.  He still obligingly throws it for Black, who lobs off into the kitchen after it.  Her nails scratch and slide the whole way on the tile flooring.  “I’m serious, Shiro.”

“I am too,” he replied, shrugging.  “It’s not like I don’t have the space, right?  And I’m doing something in between PT.  It’s nice.”

Shiro really does have the space for more than one dog.  The little ranch home is more than big enough for just him, and Keith has been renting out a guest room for months now.  Neither of them seems ready to give up the arrangement, and Pidge has learned to stop asking. 

Most importantly, it has a huge lawn.  Shiro used to joke he’d make a garden and grow his own food.  Pidge had immediately asked if he planned on freezing everything and heating it up in the microwave.

“Black’s pretty good with other dogs,” Pidge offers, shrugging.  “And Shiro’s capable of keeping up with at least a couple.  It won’t happen for a while anyway.  Background checks and all that always take forever to come back in.”

Shiro nods agreeably.  “So if it turns out to not work, or if I think I have enough work with one dog, I can back out.  But, really, it’s fine.”  Black comes back and drops the top in Shiro’s lap, tail thumping.  He picks it up in the prosthetic arm, probably because it’s covered in drool, and throws it.  Then she barrels off again.

Slowly, Keith leans back in the couch.  “I mean, alright,” he allows.  As if he’d put up a real fight in the first place.  As if he hadn’t laid down on the floor so Black could flop over him as soon as Shiro had brought her home.  His eyes roam over Shiro’s face, head tilted.  “So why?”

“Why what?”

“I mean, you usually have a reason when you sign up for something like this.  What brought it on?”

Pidge snickers and sips from her soda.  “Because he found out how long it takes for older dogs to get adopted.”

Cheeks pink, Shiro shrugged.  “It’s a good thing to do.  It keeps Black socialized, and the dog gets more individual care and attention.  Focusing on older dogs just helps free up kennel space for dogs who get adopted quicker anyway.”

Glancing at Pidge, Keith smirks, and she grins back.

Shiro has a cause again.  It’ll be good for him.  

Black comes back, toy even more drool-slick than before, and Shiro takes it with a smile.

It’ll be good for both of them.

**IV) It’s Hunk who takes it even further**

“Everything seems to be going well,” he comments, leaning in the doorway to the backyard.  As he watches, Shiro tries to jog, while a small pack of dogs follows behind him enthusiastically.  “No noise complaints?”

Keith shakes his head, not looking away from the parade of veteran and dog.  “No.  We’re pretty far out from the nearest neighbors, actually.  It’s worked out.”

It’s on the tip of Pidge’s tongue to ask about money and how they keep it up, but she keeps it to herself.  Shiro has never struggled, and he seems uncomfortable when anyone comments.  She knows better, now.  “At this point, Shiro could just open his own adoption agency,” she drawls instead.

“Actually, you’re not wrong,” Hunk says.

Pidge pauses, brows furrowed.  “Sorry, what?”

“Ever hear of senior dog sanctuaries?”

Pidge hasn’t, but Keith pauses.  “Like that one facebook group?”

Smiling, Hunk nods.  “Yeah, probably.  There’s a couple who are pretty well known now.  They taken in older dogs, fostering and just a place to stay until, well.  They stay comfortable.  And older dogs don’t tend to fight as much, so they’re much easier to let wander around and hang out together.”

“Doesn’t that take- you have to make it a business.  Or a non-profit, or whatever it takes.”  Pidge blinks rapidly, thinking about it.  “It’d need people to work on it and infrastructure.”

Hunk nods.  “I mean- it’s a thought, not anything serious.  That’s why I’m telling you, not Shiro.  I don’t want him to feel obligated.”

“I mean, website stuff isn’t a problem,” Pidge said.  “I could do that.  And I’ve been volunteering at the SCPA for years now.  I know a thing or two about how to take care of dogs.”

Keith tilts his head, thinking about it.  “It’s not the worst idea,” he agrees.  “We’d need more than just Shiro and me to take care of it.”

“I have a friend who lives near here,” Hunk says.  “Lance.  He used to work at the SCPA too.  He’s been complaining to me about the commute to get back to town.”

“It sucks,” Keith agrees, vehement.

Hunk nods.  “If you guys make this work, he’d be happy to help out.  Me too.  On call vet, and an on call vet to be.”  He nudges Pidge fondly.

“You don’t know that for sure,” Pidge mutters, but it’s fond.  Hunk has been saying she should go to veterinary school for years now.  She’s considering it.  After all, she doesn’t need a degree in computer science to prove she can program better than most professionals.  She has a portfolio for that.

“It’s just an idea,” Hunk repeats.  “But Shiro seems happy.”

He does.

Pidge glances at Keith.  Keith looks back, brows up.

“We’ll run it by him,” Keith says.

**V) Lance turns out to be more than just help with the dogs.  He covers what Pidge can’t - an engaging social media presence.**

“How many hits?” Shiro asks, choking on his water.

“Half a million since this weekend,” Lance replies, grinning widely.  He’s smug about it, but he’s earned it.  Half a million views on a video in less than a week is no small feat.  “I’m telling you, it’s easy.  The internet isn’t just for cats, you know.”

Pidge glances up from her laptop.  “Hits on the website have skyrocketed too.  We’ve been getting donations all week.  Mostly small stuff - the average is like ten bucks.  But it adds up fast.”

“Huh,” Shiro murmurs, eyes wide.  He leans back in his chair, and immediately Black sticks her head in his lap, demanding attention.  He provides it mildly.  “I never really thought…”

“A combat veteran running a charity all about fostering and caring for older dogs?” Keith says, chin resting on his palm.  “Are you kidding me?  I’m surprised every local paper with an interest section hasn’t already asked for an interview.”

Lance perks, eyes brightening.  “Good point.  We should call them.  Get Hunk here for photos, too.”

Blinking slowly, Shiro opens his mouth, shuts it, then tries again.  “If it keeps getting results like this?  Whatever you want, Lance.”

“Awesome.”  Lance beams.  “I like those words.  Those are very good words.  Can I get that in writing?”

“Don’t push it.”

But Shiro is smiling, and it’s the easy, carefree smile he’s worn since they started this.

Shiro needed a dog.

Now all of them help care for what’s approaching a dozen.

It isn’t what Pidge had been planning, but sometimes reality outperforms her expectations.

Occasionally.


	3. Scooby Doo AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From Sleepyhunk. Thank you, I owe you my life

**0) It’s not a one-to-one**

In one universe, there four teenagers and their dog.  In another, there’s five teenagers-ish.  And-

Look, most of all, no one is anyone.  Shiro’s not Freddy - he has the closest thing to his position, maybe, has his tendency to play the hero of the story.  Shiro’s never cast himself in that role, though, merely stepped into it out of duty, plays leader mostly by gritting his teeth and refusing to let anything else through.  Pidge has shades of Velma - small, wears glasses, the main brains of the group.  But she’s never had Velma’s shy streak, was never anything but loud and proud, even when it hurt.  And anyone who bumped into her wouldn’t leave her on her knees, but punching back.

It falls apart even more for the rest.  

They don’t fit those roles.  They fit their own.  They wouldn’t have it any other way.

**I) It’s Keith’s van, but Pidge’s idea**

Keith got the van from his dad.  It was part of the inheritance he got when he was 18, along with the middle-of-nowhere shack and the abandonment issues.

Having a van makes him ‘the friend with a car’, no matter how much Keith protests it.  No one else has one at the university.  Shiro was a city kid who still isn’t used to not being able to catch public transit wherever he wants to go, so he’s never bothered.  Lance had a car (his parents had a car, more like), but it went to into trust for his next-youngest nephew when he went to school, so he didn’t bring it.  Hunk has a car, but he honestly hates driving anyway, and he lives too far away not to fly (though he hates that too), and his isn’t available.   Pidge is a freshman, and therefore not allowed to have a car on campus anyway, and-

Look, there’s just no one else with a car.  And it sucks, because it means everyone needs a ride and Keith feels obligated to give it.

So when Pidge has her bright idea, Keith has no choice.

“Just look at the news report!” She cries, eyes bright and nearly feverish.  “Have you not seen any of it?  There’s already memes.  Pictures of a ghost attack, Keith!  From less than an hour away!”

Keith stares down at her laptop, then sighs deeply.  “Seriously?  You know this is going to be like- that balloon boy or whatever.”

Staring up at him, Pidge’s eyes go very big and her bottom lip juts out.  Because she’s evil.  “Keith, this could be history.  Do you really want to miss it?”

Dammit all.

“Okay, but we’re bringing Shiro.”  Keith doesn’t want to do it at all, but Shiro is at least capable of wrangling Pidge at her worst.  When he’s ready to go, Shiro will oblige.

Pidge nods immediately, grinning like the sun.  “Awesome!  Lance and Hunk already said they’d come too.”

Great.

**II)  The ghost is fake.  But the thrill isn’t.**

“A man in a mask,” Lance cackles, piling into the back of the van.  Keith’s actually not sure that the weird side-facing seats back there are actually legal.  He knows the way Lance and Pidge have been flopping around on the mattress during the drive is definitely illegal.

(He really needs to get rid of that thing, or at least replace it, because gross)

Hunk presses his forehead to the window, snickering too.  “I know!  I can’t believe someone actually did that!  For, for- some stupid land rights?  ‘Well, guess this place is haunted, I’ll sell after all’.  Yeah right!”

Grinning, Shiro climbs into the driver’s seat, because he likes night driving in the van more than Keith.  Both his natural hands grip the steering wheel tight to counter the adrenaline tremor.   “Might have worked before the internet.  Ah, well.”

“Still!”  Lance enthusiastically punches the air, just barely missing making a dent in the ceiling.  “I can’t believe you tackled that guy!”

“He startled me,” is Shiro’s mild response, but his shark’s grin is anything but polite.

Pidge gave a low sigh.  “It’s disappointing.  He faked it pretty well.  I honestly thought-”

“Ghosts aren’t real,” Keith repeats, for probably the hundredth time that night.

Crossing his arm, Lance snorts.  “That’s what you think.  Just ‘cause this one is fake-”

Pidge points to him, head bobbing.  “Right! Here, there’s another place down the hallway with all these reports-”

“Is there?” Shiro asked, eyes flashing and grin still too wide.  “On the way?”

Picking his head up, Hunk considers them all.  “Are you really thinking… it’s like two AM.”

Keith glances over the group, then clips himself into the passenger side seat. “We don’t have class tomorrow.”

“True,” Pidge agrees, her smile just as vicious as Shiro’s.  “It’d only be an extra hour, tops.”

They don’t get back to school until Monday morning.

They make the paper, and they actually make a little money from the grateful theater owner.

**III) It just grows from there.**

Shiro is the first to graduate.  He’s also the one with the most credibility (and money, though he’s shady about that part).  He doesn’t go out solving any mysteries without them, but he does trademark a couple of names and get the van repainted.  They don’t go out unless they can pick him up somewhere else.

Keith is next.  He thinks about the courses he took, about the aeronautics degree he just spent so much money to get.  He thinks about the mix of reviews from his professors, ‘brilliant and driven’ in the same breath as ‘frustratingly stubborn’.

He throws all of it away without a second thought.  He and Shiro start doing research on the side, learn to fix up the ancient van (finally replacing that mattress), while working side jobs.

Lance, Hunk and Pidge graduate together, with Pidge taking summer classes to catch up.

Then, they’re not just a bunch of random college kids running out at night.

They’re Mystery Paladins Incorporated.

**IV) Mystery solving doesn’t pay the bills.  But the internet does.**

“Get that camera out of my face,” Keith snaps, shoving his palm over the lens.

Lance yelps and pulls it back.   Pulling out the cleaning cloth, he rubs over it, scowling right back.  “Dude, don’t smudge it.  You’ll ruin our footage.”

Ignoring that, Keith steps closer to Shiro, watching Pidge through the corner of his eyes.  This was the closest they’d been able to coordinate some weird reports to an actual location, and Pidge had been nearly bouncing to check it out for weeks.

Besides him, Shiro is alert, flashlight in one hand, the other hold over his gun holster.  He has his preferences, and wandering around the woods in the middle of the night isn’t it.  Shiro likes the weird ones, the killer clowns in abandoned amusement parks, giant lobster monsters attacking port towns.  Creepy weirdos in the woods?  Too likely to be something mundane and dangerous.

Keith relates.

“Guys?” Hunk called.  He holds a microphone in one hand, the other pressing one side his headphones harder onto his ear.  “I think I hear voices ahead.”

Immediately, Lance grins and bounds ahead, surprisingly quiet.

Cursing under his breath, Shiro darts after.

There’s a crack in the distance, and a scream of pain.

Keith knows it’s Shiro.

**V) Sometimes, the mysteries are people. Bad people.  And Mystery Hunting is dangerous.**

Keith leans back in his chair, rubbing his eyes.  The tiny hospital room is full with the five of them.  Hunk takes up one chair, head back as he breathes deeply and slowly.  Pidge his crashed mostly in his lap, her legs dangling over one of the arm rests and her head on Hunk’s shoulder.  From here, he can’t tell if she’s asleep or just has her eyes cracked.

On Shiro’s other side, Lance is gripping the sheets of Shiro’s bed, eyes roaming over his face again.

Now he has a much shorter haircut, with white streaked through what’s left of his bangs.  The wound over his nose is finally healing, but when the nurses change the bandages, Keith knows it’ll scar.

And his arm is gone.

“Hey,” Keith murmurs gently.  “You okay?”

Lance looks up at him and swallows.  The he shakes his head.  “He’s going to be so mad when he wakes up,” he managed, voice small and surprisingly young.

“No he’s not,” Keith shoots back, because it’s true.  It’s Shiro.  “He knew what he was doing.”

Shaking his head, Lance screws his eyes shut.  “If I hadn’t been so focused on that camera-”

It’s a useless train of thought.  Taking a pen off the counter, Keith throws it.  It hits Lance in the forehead and bounces off. “Yeah, the shot that pays for gas and food.  You were doing your job.  Shiro’s not going to be mad.”

Lance doesn’t seem to be certain of that, but he finally nods, rubbing his forehead.  “What now?”  He asks.

Keith doesn’t know.

But when Shiro wakes up, he does.

**VI) They’re Mystery Paladins Incorporated.  Then and After.**

 

**Bonus) Aliens are Real and So Can You.**

“Holy shit,” Lance breathes, shining on the woman climbing out of the ship.  The light catches on the pink markings on her face and the earrings dangling from her long, pointed ears.

Pidge whoops.  “Finally!  One of them is real!”

“Well,” Keith mutters.  “I’ll be damned.”


	4. Wings AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro's relationship with his wings, past and present

**I) Shiro has always been proud of his wings.**

These days, there was not much point to wings.  They were little more than an evolutionary leftover.  At one point, they were useful tools for surviving in the wild, gliding away from danger more than outright flying.  Now, wings stayed tucked against people’s backs, only making themselves known in fashion or when anyone accidentally bumped someone with them and had to apologize for spilling their coffee.

Shiro had a phase where he was determined to fly with his.  Nevermind that he’d been eight and they’d been little more than tufts of down.  He’d jumped off of everything he could climb up, from furniture to trees and, one one occasion, he’d nearly made it off the roof.

Eventually, the impossibility of Shiro’s dream settled in, but he never stopped wanting to fly, and he never stopped loving his wings.  They were a sleek black, shiny and resilient, and Shiro kept them well exercised when most people let the muscles atrophy.  While he still couldn’t fly, he could create a gust of wind strong enough to make most anyone stumble, and he’d won more than one stupid teenage dare about gliding distance.

Still, if his wings couldn’t get him airborne, Shiro was going to find a way.

**II) The Galaxy Garrison was that way**

Shiro found the same _thrill_ in flying a machine that he’d found in his young imagination.  It wasn’t quite the same, but it was the closest Shiro could get.  He could soar in simulations, could part clouds with the wings of his plane.  Could look down and see the world, so small below him it was like toys.  Like the rest of his life was playing along, and this was reality.

The Galaxy Garrison was where Shiro could finally spread his wings, physically and metaphorically.  It was where he meet like-minded people, who looked up at the night sky and thought _I belong there._  It was where he met Keith, whose drive to touch the sky might have been greater than Shiro’s own - or he was simply less reserved about chasing it.

Shiro pushed forward, fought for opportunity, excelled.

Shiro learned how to fly.  And like his eight-year-old self had always believed, he was _good_ at it.

Looking up at the huge stretch of the night sky, Shiro fell back against the roof, his wings as extended as they would go.  Sitting next to him, Keith absently flapped his own wings, streaked with brown and clay-red like the desert that surrounded them.

“I’m going to apply,” Shiro decided, still looking up.  He could easily pick out Mars and Venus in the night sky, but what he wanted was farther than that.  Much, much farther.

Keith hummed, unsurprised.  “That’s a long time to have to keep your wings tucked,” he pointed out, eyeing where Shiro was taking up half the roof with his wingspan.

Rolling his eyes, Shiro sat up and flattened them to his back.  The primaries trailed against the wood of the shack’s roof, sending a shiver through him.  “I’ll manage.  It’ll be worth it.  Kerberos, Keith.  The first people to the edge of the solar system.  I have to try.”

“Yeah,” Keith agreed.  “I would too.”  He curled his legs up to his chest, one wing splaying out toward Shiro.  The reddish tips just brushed against the center of Shiro’s back, over where his wings were tucked tight.  “I’ll miss you, you know.”

Shiro laughed softly.  “Getting ahead of yourself.  I’m barely graduated.  Who knows if they’ll want me even applying.”

“That won’t stop you,” Keith replied.  “And they will.  There’s no one better.”

Keith might have been competition, but he was too young yet, still two years out from graduation.

“Seniority matters,” Shiro reminded him, eyes closed.  When Keith’s feathers brushed his own, Shiro pushed his wings back, like a cat leaning into petting.  Feather to feather contact was okay with Keith, especially when he started it.  Skin to skin was a different story.

Rolling his shoulders, Keith glanced back at the cluster of lights on the horizon that was the Garrison.  “Then the brass are idiots.”

No arguments there.  Shiro still smiled, charmed at Keith’s defense.

Finally, he spread his wings further, using his longer wingspan to wrap around Keith’s shoulders like a blanket.  “I’ll miss you too.”

Keith’s smile was bright, for the second before he hid it in his knees.

**III) The months-long journey to Kerberos was painful**

Shiro had lived in apartments and condos for most of his life.  He’d spend hours in class with his wings shivering and twitching, trying to keep them in as small a space as he could.  But he’d never gone longer than a few days without getting the chance to fully stretch out and flap, if only for a minute or two.

The _Daedalus_ was simply too small to allow that kind of movement.  Even when Shiro wasn’t wearing his bulky suit that covered his wings completely, he could only get about half-open before he was in danger of hitting equipment.

It didn’t seem to bother either of his teammates nearly so much.  Commander Holt reminded him to keep up his exercises, which were supposed to help keep his muscles from atrophying.  He kept his own up every day, but didn’t seem to have the same constant itch to flap that Shiro struggled with.

Matt was even worse.  He barely cared, laughing at Shiro’s mounting frustration.  “You can fly in zero grav back at the Garrison,” he reminded Shiro fondly.  “You need to do it here, too?”

“You don’t feel trapped?”  Shiro had never been claustrophobic, or else he’d never have survived training.  Cockpits tended to be small, especially with anyone with a larger wingspan.  But he was beginning to sympathize with the fear, now.

Considering, Matt shrugged one shoulder.  “Yeah, kind of.  I miss going on runs.  But I don’t mind keeping my wings tucked.  I usually keep them there anyway.”

Baffling, but not unexpected.  Most people were that way.  Shiro just didn’t understand how.

When they finally landed on Kerberos and set up the equipment, Shiro closed his eyes and imagined being able to spread his wings.  To hang on the edge of this moon, tips of his feathers as far apart as they could go.  Imagining taking a running leap and pushing off, using the lack of gravity to glide into the stars, momentum going on forever.

Letting go of the childish fantasy with a sigh, Shiro opened his eyes.

And saw a ship above them.

A ship that wasn’t one he recognized.

_“Run!”_

**IV) Shiro has never needed it, but the wings had another benefit: Combat**

Gripping the blade in his hands, Shiro’s breath came in short, desperate gasps.  That was two, so this was-

There was a vicious hum as Myzax’s weapon burst toward him, slamming through the rock pillar and throwing up a cloud of dust.

Three.

Ducking around from his cover, Shiro kept his wings tucked, streamlined as possible as he tried to gain ground.  Myzax held out his staff, taking back the ball, which hummed and stayed in place, recharging from the last volley.

That didn’t make his opponent less dangerous.  That didn’t make Shiro closer in size to the monster in front of him.

But he had one trick that Myxaz didn’t.

Right before he got into striking range, Shiro crouched, then snapped his wings out and flapped. At the same moment, he sprang up, getting more height than he had any other time in the fight.

Myzax’s head started to pull up, following the fast move too late.

Shiro was already bringing the blade down, slicing over his face and sending the monster crashing to the ground.  His wings stayed out, giving him a soft landing, and Shiro was able to kick the energy weapon away and hold out his blade in clear threat.

There was a long pause.

Then, the audience erupted into screams and roars, losing their minds.

Shiro had won.  Shiro had _won._

And he continued to win. Even when his feathers dulled and failed to grow back, even when stark white lines of scars crossed the flesh, even when his face was sliced open and blood drenched his face and neck.

Shiro never lost.

But once, his armored, sworded opponent was faster than Shiro expected, more devastating with his attacks.  He fought like Shiro, the battle itself a show, the killing blows swift and nearly merciful.

Shiro still won, but the opponent got him in the back, stabbing in and twisting, cracking the fragile bone.  At his side, his arm hung from tatters of muscle.

As his defeated opponent was taken away, and Zarkon himself stood and stormed toward the exit, Shiro collapsed to the dirt floor, bleeding heavily.  Too heavily.  

Staring up at the bright lights and listening to the cheers and screams fading, Shiro thought ‘ _this is how I die.’_

Until the very bottom of a robe brushed what was left of his wings,and a clawed hand grabbed him by the jaw.

One look at Haggar’s smile told Shiro he would not die today.  

But he would want to.

**V) Haggar took his wings**

Staring in the mirror of Keith’s little shack, Shiro’s stomach flipped.  

He didn’t recognize the man in the mirror.

The deep scar cut over his nose, merely the most visible with his clothes on.  It lengthened his face, aged him, making Shiro wonder just how long he’d been gone.  White bangs fell into his face, brushed back by metal fingers.

And his wings.

His wings were just as mechanical as his left hand.  No longer black and glossy, they were the same silver and dark grey material as the other prosthetic.  Where they’d been one streamlined piece, now there were fewer feathers, jagged and shining.  Each movement made a slight clicking noise, so different from the silken slid his feathers had made.  

These weren’t his wings.  These weren’t the tufts of down he’d grown up with, that he’d glided with as a teenager, that he’d learned to spread and tuck by turns at the Garrison.  This was like having living swords strapped to his back, a sick mockery.  They were for fighting, not flying.

Stumbling out into the light of dawn, Shiro clutched his metal wrist and stared out, watching the shadows of his false wings grow over the sand.

“It’s good to have you back,” Keith murmured later, when he found Shiro staring.

“It’s good to be back,” he replied, but it was numb.  Shiro wasn’t back.  Not really.  Only pieces of him.   _His wings were gone._

Keith swallowed, his clay-red wings brushing over the metal.  Shiro could see it, but he couldn’t feel it.  He ached for that contact, the kind Keith would always allow, but that he could never offer again.

“We need to talk,” Keith said.  “Come back inside.”

In a daze, Shiro followed.

The false-wings tucked against his back, far more comfortable there than the real ones had ever been.  

Shiro had no desire to spread these.

**Bonus) The Black Lion had wings.**

Shiro had noticed, idly, the difference in design when Allura had shown them the holograms.  But it didn’t register until this moment.

The Black Lion had metal wings, each of the shining primaries long spread wide.  They were red where Shiro’s were black, but otherwise so similar.  The same in the ways that mattered.

Stepping forward, ringed from behind by the other four lions, Shiro’s heart reached out, and felt another’s meet him there.

The Black Lion roared in greeting.

Shiro spread his wings for the first time since waking up.

It was time for them to fly.


End file.
